The Outlaw's Bride

by Catherine Palmer

  Sweeping her hair into a knot, she had just begun to pin it when someone knocked on the door. Dropping the mass of hair, she swung around, fingertips at her throat.

  “Yes?”

  “Buchanan here.”

  Annoyed at the flutter that began in her chest at the sound of his deep voice, she strode to the door and pulled it open. Though images of Noah had drifted through her mind all night, she was unprepared for the sight of him. A clean chambray shirt showed beneath the ankle-length canvas duster coat he wore. His denim trousers ended in a pair of black boots. A pistol hung in the holster at his hip.

  “We’re going on a buggy ride,” he informed her. “Bring your shawl. It’s cold out.”

  Too disconcerted to protest, Isobel wrapped her white shawl around her head and shoulders.

  “Straighten the bed,” Noah ordered. “Good manners.”

  Isobel had never made a bed in her life, but she bent over to smooth the blankets. A buggy ride? Where had he gotten a buggy? What did he intend? And where had he been all night? With Susan?

  She glanced at Noah. His square jaw gleamed from the morning’s shave. His blue eyes glowed with the brilliant hue of the morning sky outside her window.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  “You’ll see.” He took her arm and set off through the house. He paused in the kitchen long enough to bundle a stack of freshly baked tortillas in a white napkin and hand them to Isobel.

  “Thanks, Beatriz,” he said to Juan’s petite wife. “If we aren’t back by sunset, send out a posse.”

  “Sunset!” Isobel exclaimed. “But I—”

  “I’ll be in Mac’s rig, Beatriz,” he said. Busy with her housework, the woman waved them on. Noah hustled Isobel across the porch and into the waiting buggy.

  A pale yellow sun rose to light the Capitan Mountains as Noah drove the buggy toward the Rio Bonito’s narrow valley. Purple shadows faded. Greens began to stand out. Sometime in the night, Noah had made up his mind to take Isobel out of town, where he could talk to her about things that needed to be said. And being so far from civilization, he would have time to calm her down before she did something fool headed. At least he could try.

  Noah found he had a hard time keeping his eyes on the dirt track. Isobel looked mighty fine this morning. Her new blue dress with its ruffles and gathers showed off her figure in a way that made it hard for him to concentrate. Though she sat up straight on the buggy seat and held her chin high, she looked as sweet and mild as fresh milk.

  But he knew better. Beneath that demure facade lay a woman with a tongue as sharp as barbed wire. He had felt its sting the night before when she had told Susan Gates her opinion of him. It didn’t take much to set Noah Buchanan on the straight track. And Isobel had done just that. So much for the daydreams that had been rolling around in his head since the night he had kissed her. Daydreams weren’t worth a barrel of shucks.

  “Where are you taking me?” Isobel spoke up as the buggy passed the Dolan store, where the group of Fort Stanton soldiers lounged on the porch.

  “Out of town.”

  “I guessed that much,” she retorted.

  Noah didn’t let himself rise to the taunt. He wasn’t about to start talking to her this close to town.

  As the buggy rolled closer to the river, the barren terrain gave way to cedar shrubs mingled with piñons and junipers. Grama grass and bunchgrass, untouched by cattle or sheep so far from town, had grown thick the past summer. Now a dry gray-brown, it crackled beneath the buggy wheels.

  The rig bumped and jolted along the rutted trail until Noah turned the horse into the woods. “I intend to speak with several men in Lincoln today,” Isobel said. “I can’t be away long.”

  “Eat a tortilla,” Noah told her.

  Letting out a sigh of exasperation, she crossed her arms. “Noah Buchanan, I—”

  “If you aren’t going to eat, hand me one. That Susan Gates is a bum cook. Good thing she’s set her mind on teaching.” He couldn’t hold back a smile at the memory of the men hunkering down for breakfast at McSween’s house. “Eggs looked like cow chips. And the bacon…well, a man could break a tooth on the stuff.”

  “Poor Susan,” Isobel murmured.

  “But she’s a sweet gal anyhow. Whoa, now.” He pulled the horse to a stop in a glade at the edge of a stream. “How’s this?”

  “For what?”

  “For talking.” He jumped down from the buggy and walked around to Isobel’s side. When he extended a hand, she stood, lifted her skirt, and set her fingers on his palm. She was trembling, he noted as he helped her down, and he suddenly realized how unexpected—maybe even frightening—this excursion might appear to her.

  “What will we talk about?” she asked.

  He looked into her eyes, swallowed and hitched up his shoulders. “I’ll put down a blanket, and we can sit a spell.”

  “Has something happened? Is it about Mr. Tunstall’s murder?”

  He rubbed a palm across the back of his neck. “I’ll fetch that blanket.”

  She stood unmoving while he unloaded a wool blanket from the buggy and spread it on a patch of grass under a tree. Seating herself, she seemed to melt into a pouf of blue cotton.

  “What I have to tell you isn’t about Tunstall,” he began as he sat down beside her.

  “Then who?”

  He took a deep breath. “I know who killed your father.”

  “Who did it? Tell me at once!” She clumped her skirt in knotted fists.

  “Before you get bees in your britches, I want you to hear me out, Isobel. Do your best to think straight.”

  “I always think clearly.”

  He held his tongue about that comment as he continued. “Last night after I left you at Patrón’s house, I went to McSween’s place. Dick Brewer and I sat out on the porch jawing about this and that. I led him around to telling me about the day he came across that massacre on the trail.”

  “And?”

  “And Dick let out a secret he’d never told. When he found the coach, the guard who was still alive gave him a good description of the man who shot your father. Dick knew right away who it was. The assassin would be long gone by the time the story came out, Dick knew, so the law would drag him back to Lincoln where no one wanted him. ’Course now he’s back in town whether we like it or not.”

  “Who, Noah?”

  “The Horrell Gang attacked your father’s party—the same bunch that killed Juan Patrón’s dad. But the guard told Dick that the man who pulled the trigger on your father had a heavy jaw, a flat nose and spiked-out red hair. His eyes were narrow slits.”

  “Snake Jackson,” she whispered.

  “You’d be hard put to find a man to match that description better than Rattlesnake Jim Jackson. This morning, Juan confirmed that Snake was riding with the Horrells back in seventy-three.”

  Isobel had shut her eyes, the expression on her face filled with pain. Noah could guess how it felt to learn the name of a man who had murdered someone you loved. He fought the urge to put his arm around the woman and hold her close.

  But to Isobel, he thought, he wasn’t worthy to give her comfort. He was just a no-account cowboy, and he had to keep his hands off.

  “Now, Isobel,” he said, crossing his arms to keep from touching her. “Look at this situation straight-on. Snake Jackson murdered your father, but he just murdered John Tunstall, too. He’s in a heap more hot water about that. He already has his eye out for a Mexican woman who saw him put a hole in Tunstall’s chest. If he ever pins you as that woman, you don’t stand a chance. And if he links you to the Horrell business, honey, your days are numbered.”

  Her eyes filling with tears, Isobel said nothing. Noah knew that she was remembering the moment Snake Jackson had shot the Englishman…and imagining the same man killing her father.

  “Take me back to town, Noah,” she said suddenly. “I must kill Jim Jackson.”

  “Kill him?” It was the last thing in the world Noah ha
d expected her to say. He shook his head. “Lady, I just told you your life is in great danger, and you want to ride into Lincoln and try to hunt down a killer? A man who’s in league with Dolan and Evans and the rest of those sidewinders?”

  Her eyes flashed. “He murdered my father, Noah. What choice do I have?”

  “Choice? Take your pick. You can head for Santa Fe and marry your fancy don—or sail back to Spain and settle down with your family.”

  She looked away. “I don’t suppose you’ve had a telegram from Guillermo Pascal.”

  “Not yet, but the Pascals are busy folk. Ranching, politics, you name it. If I were you, I’d go home. I bet your mama would be tickled pink to have you back.”

  “I’m not wanted in Spain. No more than I’m wanted by Guillermo Pascal.”

  Noah let out his breath. Here was a fine to-do. She wouldn’t go to Santa Fe because the don she’d come all this way to marry didn’t seem to want her. She wouldn’t go to Spain because her family didn’t want her. So what did she plan to do—stay in Lincoln? Who wanted her here?

  Not Noah Buchanan, that’s for sure. He took off his hat, leaned back against the tree and closed his eyes. He had enjoyed that kiss the other night, but if she thought she could treat him like dirt and still expect him to protect her…

  “What do you see?” she asked. “In Lincoln. What makes you stay?”

  He studied the vast terrain. “New Mexico Territory has elbow room, fresh air, blue sky and plenty of sunshine. It’s a tough land. Tough people, too. I like that.”

  “I see little about the people to admire.”

  “Most of them are hard as old boot leather. They’ve worked hard and lived hard. They’re either good or they’re bad. It’s not hard to tell ’em apart. The way a man’s heart is—the state of his soul—starts creeping out onto his face. The older he gets, the more he looks like the person he is inside.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” Isobel said. “My father had golden hair, and his smile was gentle. Dr. Ealy’s face is filled with peace. Susan Gates is lovely.”

  “She’s easy on the eyes.”

  “You should marry her.”

  Noah sat up straight. “Marry Miss Gates?”

  “She likes you. She would make you a good wife.”

  He gave a snort. “You’ve got two problems with that little notion. One is that Miss Gates has her cap set on Dick Brewer, and he’s returning the compliment. Last night when we were alone, she asked me about him. I had only good things to say, of course. I don’t imagine it’ll be too long before we hear wedding bells.”

  “A wedding? But they barely know each other.”

  “They know enough—for sure more than you know your don.”

  “Don’t speak of Guillermo Pascal,” she said, knotting her hands in her lap. “It’s not your concern.”

  “But the second hitch in your scheme to marry me off to Miss Gates is my concern. I’m already married—in case you forgot.”

  “I didn’t forget,” she said.

  “Neither did I.”

  Their eyes met for a moment. Isobel swallowed and glanced away. “How do I look to you, Noah?” she asked. “Does my face show a hardness of heart?”

  He took her hand from her lap, opened the fingers and studied them for a moment. “When I first saw you hiding behind that juniper, I thought you were a mite chilly looking. All those shiny green ruffles. Now I have you pegged as hardheaded, afraid of tying yourself down, scared to trust folk. That shows on your face, Isobel. It does.”

  She lowered her head.

  “On the other hand,” he continued, “being strong minded and gritty serves a woman well here in the West.”

  Taking a breath, she spoke in a gush. “Noah, last night you heard me say harsh and cruel things about you. They were lies. All of them. You’re the best man I have met since the death of my father. You’re gentle but also strong. And brave, intelligent, kind…”

  “Whoa, I seem to have improved.”

  She smiled. “You are a good person. Noah, I’m sorry. What I said last night was wrong. I’m so sorry.”

  He studied her for a moment. “Isobel, if you didn’t mean what you told Miss Gates, why’d you say it?”

  Nervous, she lifted the hair from the back of her neck. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she struggled to voice her feelings. “I…I can’t allow myself to think too well of you, Noah.”

  “Because I’m low class?”

  “That has nothing to do with it. What is here for me? Nothing. I have no future. My paths to Santa Fe and Spain are blocked. My only hope now is to find Snake Jackson and get my land titles from him. I have nothing. I am nobody. How can I allow myself to look at anything but revancha?”

  “Listen, Isobel, you can forget about revenge. I’m not letting you near Jim Jackson. The man wants to kill you, and he wouldn’t think twice about it.”

  “What will you do with me?”

  “After Tunstall’s funeral tomorrow, I’ll take you to Chisum’s ranch. That’s final. No arguing.”

  “And then? What then, Noah? What is to become of me? You can’t hold me there forever. You don’t want me any more than Don Guillermo or my family and—”

  “I want you, Isobel. I don’t understand why, but ever since I first laid eyes on you, I’ve cared about you. The future is in God’s hands, but one thing’s for sure. Everything’s about to blow sky-high in Lincoln. I’ve got to get Chisum out of jail and keep Snake from getting his hands on you. All I can think about is right now. And right now, what I know I can’t deny. The only truth I can see is that I want you.”

  Isobel let out her breath slowly. “If you want me, Noah, hold me. Kiss me now.”

  Chapter Eight

  He could hardly believe she had said it. But she was a temptation, and at this moment, Noah could not resist. A woman who looked as Isobel looked, who spoke as she spoke, could not be ignored.

  Thoughts of the uncertain future went clean out of his head as he bent to kiss her cheek.

  “Isobel, darlin’,” he murmured. “What are you doing to me?”

  She stared up at him, her face filled with tenderness.

  With a sigh, he took her in his arms and kissed her sweet lips. And kissed them again. A cool breeze playing off the stream mingled with the warm sunlight shining on this patch of green grass. In the silent haven Noah felt as if he was a world away from the fear, bloodshed and anger pursuing them.

  When her arms came around him, he knew they were in dangerous territory. Gritting his teeth, he drew back and forced his breathing to steady.

  “I haven’t had much schooling,” he told her, “but I learned one thing a few years back. Put a hungry man and a willing woman together, and you’ve got trouble. I’ve read the Bible cover to cover a few times, and I figured out the smart thing to do is stick with God’s plan for a man and a woman to get married before they do too much kissing.”

  Isobel relaxed in his arms, her cheek on his shoulder, her dark gold hair soft against his chest. “I have read many books, but never the Bible. The Scriptures are read to us in church. For me, such things as prayer, the Bible, the sacraments are of the old ways—respected but insignificant. Religion is a guide, not a law.”

  This surprised Noah. Most of the Mexicans and Spaniards he knew took their faith seriously. “Without those old ways, I’d have made a heap more mistakes than I did. Fact is, I don’t put a foot out of bed every morning without praying first. I try to never make a decision unless I check it out with God first.”

  “You married me very quickly. Did you check with God?”

  He shook his head. “Nope, and that’s how come I’m as tangled up as a bull with its horns caught in a barbed wire fence. Only thing I can do now is pray that God will reach down His hand and untangle me.”

  She fell silent for a moment. “Noah.” Her breath stirred his skin. “The day we met, you searched Dick Brewer’s cabin for paper.”

  He tensed. “Yeah…I did.”

  �
��What do you write, Noah?”

  His touched a strand of her hair, his fingers tracing the golden waves as he pondered her question. Finally he let out a breath. “Not much yet.”

  “The moment I first saw your hands—when you saved me from the bullet’s path that day on the trail—I knew you were more than a vaquero. I knew you were an artist. Your hands are those of a poet.”

  He smiled at that. “I’m no poet, Isobel.”

  “Tell me what you write. Please, Noah.”

  “Just stories, mainly. They’re all up here. In my head. Stories about life on the trail. About things that can happen to a man when he’s living off the land, when he and God and the cattle are his whole world. Yarns the men spin while they’re sitting around the fire after a long day.” He sighed. “It’s probably a crazy notion.”

  “It would be crazier not to write down your stories.”

  “Maybe so, Isobel.”

  A white butterfly drifted over their heads. Noah watched, wondering how it had emerged from its cocoon so soon. Too soon. An early frost would likely end its life before summer. The white wings trembled, and the butterfly alighted on Isobel’s shoulder. She didn’t notice. Noah smiled.

  He liked Isobel this way, he mused. She was soft and feminine in a way that made him want to do things he’d tried to put clean out of his mind. Things like protect, honor and provide for her. He wanted to keep her at hand so he could touch her hair and brush his lips across hers. He’d like to know her sweet arms were waiting for him at the end of the day.

  “You must take me to town now, Noah,” she cut into his daydream. “I must find Jim Jackson before dark. I cannot be denied la venganza.”

  It took him a moment to sift through the sunlit imaginings that had spangled his reality. “La vengan—”

  “I must avenge my father’s murder and retrieve the land-grant titles this Snake stole from the familia Matas. I know the name of the assassin, and I have no choice.”